The next day, Mr. Delacroix left for the city, and my sister arrived.
My sister was not alone, though I suppose this should not have come as a surprise.
“Win,” I said. “They didn’t say you were coming.” I was sitting at the kitchen table. I did not get up. I didn’t want to have to walk in front of him.
“I wanted to come,” he said. “I’ve always liked this house, and the summer program I was supposed to go to didn’t end up working out. Natty said she was coming, so I thought I’d make the trip with her.”
Natty hugged me. “You look awful, but at the same time, you look so much better,” she said. “Both awful and better.”
“A mixed review,” I said.
“Show me where the bedroom is. Win’s mom said we could share. It will be like when we were little.” Win was still watching us, and I didn’t want to have to rise from the table in front of him. I didn’t want him to feel sorry for me, I guess. “Win can show you,” I said. “It’s the master. I’ll be along in a minute. I want to finish my water.”
Natty considered me. “Win,” she said, “could you leave Annie and me alone for a second?”
Win nodded. “Nice seeing you, Annie,” he said casually as he left.
She lowered her voice. “Something is wrong. What is it?”
“Well, I move like an old woman and it’s actually kind of hard for me to get up from this chair without my cane, which I left over there.” I pointed to the cupboard. “And I get … well … well, I get embarrassed.”
“Annie,” she said, “you’re being silly.” She took two graceful, easy steps, grabbed the cane, and handed it to me.
She offered me her arm, and I awkwardly shuffled to my feet.
“Isn’t this place beautiful?” she said rapturously. “I’m so glad to be here. Isn’t Win’s mom so pretty and nice? She looks like him, no? Aren’t we lucky?”
“Natty, you shouldn’t have invited Win.”
She shrugged. “It’s his mother’s house. Of course he was going to come. Besides, it was his father who invited him, not me, so I assumed it was fine with you. Aren’t you two thick as thieves now?”
Mr. Delacroix, I thought,
“Win already knew I was coming, and he asked me if
“No, of course not. It’ll be fine. You’re right. I don’t know what my problem was back there. I suppose I was surprised. The truth is, he’s like a different person and so am I. And those new people don’t even know each other.”
“So no chance that you’ll try to rekindle the romance? It is very romantic here.”
“No, Natty. All that is done. And I have no interest in romance with anyone at the moment. Possibly ever.”
She looked like she wanted to say something more, but she bit her tongue.
We ate dinner on the porch, though I was still not hungry. Despite what I had said to Natty, I felt angry at Mr. Delacroix for inviting me, angry at Win for coming, and angry at Natty for not knowing enough to tell Win to stay in Boston. I excused myself before dessert, which was peach cobbler, and went to bed.
As would become my custom, I woke at dawn to drag myself around the farm. I knew I needed to exercise, but I didn’t want anyone to watch me. Then I limped over to a deck chair and lay down with a book.
Every day, Win and Natty went on excursions, like kayaking, trips to the farmers’ market, and horseback riding. They tried to include me, but I resisted activities.
One afternoon, they came home with a carton of strawberries from a nearby farm. “We picked these for you,” Natty said. Her cheeks were ruddy, and her long black hair was so shiny and glossy that I thought I could practically use it as a mirror. The truth was, I couldn’t remember her ever having been prettier. Her prettiness struck me as aggressive and almost offensive. It was a reminder of how
“I’m not hungry,” I said.
“You always say that,” Natty said, popping one into her mouth. “I’ll leave them for you then.” She set them on the table next to my chair. “Can we get you anything else?”
“I’m fine.”
She sighed and looked as if she might argue with me. “You should eat,” she said. “You won’t get well if you don’t eat.”
I picked up my book.
Later that afternoon, just before sunset, Win returned to the deck. He took the carton of strawberries, which I had not touched. We had not spoken much since he’d arrived. I didn’t think he was avoiding me, but I really was awful company and I did nothing to encourage conversation. “Hey,” he said.
I nodded.
He was wearing a white shirt. He rolled up the sleeves. He took a single, perfect red strawberry from the carton. He carefully removed its leafy crown. He got down on one knee by my chair. He placed the strawberry in the center of the palm of his hand, and without looking at me, he held out his hand to me, as if I were an old dog that might turn on him. “Please, Annie, have this one,” he said in a soft, pleading tone.
“Oh, Win,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.”
“Just the one,” he implored. “For old times’ sake. I know you aren’t mine and I’m not yours, so I probably don’t have a right to ask you to do anything. But I hate seeing you so frail.”
This might have hurt my feelings, but it was said in an incredibly kind way. Besides, I knew how I looked. I was bones and messy hair and scars. I wasn’t trying to starve myself in some dramatic fashion. I was tired and I hurt and that took up the time I used to devote to feeding myself. “Do you truly think that one strawberry will make a difference?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
I leaned my head down and took the strawberry from his hand. For a fraction of a second, I let my lips rest on his palm. I took the strawberry in my mouth. The flavor was sweet, but delicate and strange, wild and a bit tart.
He took his hand back and closed it with resolve. A second later, he left without another word.
I picked up the carton, and I ate another strawberry.
The next afternoon, he brought me an orange. He peeled it and offered me a single section in the same way he had offered me that strawberry. He set the rest of the orange on the table and then he left.
And the afternoon after that, he brought me a kiwi. He took out a knife and removed its skin. He cut it into seven even slices and set a single one on his hand.
“Wherever did you get a kiwi?” I asked.
“I have my ways,” he said.
And then he brought me an enormous peach—pinkish orange and perfect, without a single bruise. He took a knife from his pocket. He was about to cut it, but I put my hand on his. “I think I’ll eat the whole peach, but promise not to watch me. I can tell it’s going to be messy.”
“As you wish,” he said. He took out his book, and he began to read.
The juice ran down my chin and hands, as I had expected. The peach was pulpy and so good I almost felt emotional as I ate it. I laughed for what felt like the first time in months. “I’m so dirty,” I said.
He took his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me.
“Was this from your mother’s orchard?”
“Yes, it seemed a particularly good peach, so I saved it for you. But as for the rest, I take Natty, and we trade my mother’s crops at the other farms.”
